


Hacker to His Marine

by Arasia_Valentia



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Later Sex, M/M, PTSD, Strong Language, copious amounts of booze, fuck Sarah no one likes you, spoilers for all episodes, these poor boys need some love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 14:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arasia_Valentia/pseuds/Arasia_Valentia
Summary: Frank and David have had a volatile relationship from the get-go. But there is nothing a little bit (okay maybe more than a bit) of hardship, a lot of booze, some dead bodies, a government conspiracy, and some hard core pining, can't fix. Maybe a little sex too. Point is, David just can't help but fall down the rabbit hole that is Frank Castle.------or Frank and David have some tension cuz I'm an ass, and they can't admit they love each other.





	Hacker to His Marine

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I watched the entire thing, and I know what happens to David. But I said I think not Marvel, this is not the end, so here I am. Now, David will always love Sarah, but it's kinda like a mutual divorce, or breakup. You love em, but you just can't see your self with them anymore, make sense? Also I've shipped them since David called him up and stood on the diner like an ass so, I needed this okay? Updates may be random, but please enjoy.

The first time he met Frank Castle, he wanted to punch the man in the throat. But then again, so would anyone if you tied them up, to a chair, naked as the day they were born. But that was not the only reason he disliked him. Now, David thought he was a pretty laid back guy, all things considered. Well, minus some moments of intense, deep seated paranoia. 

But boy, did Frank know how to push David’s buttons. When he saw him five feet away from his wife, despite the fact he was getting hit by her car, he was not a happy camper. In hindsight, hitting him would've made things much worse, but damn, it would've felt good. Yet, David did none of that, oh no, he was not about that type of buffoonery, thank you very much. He liked his life existent.

So, when he was tied to a chair and he wanted to curse Frank out and call him names- a fiery sea of rage churning in his stomach- he didn't. He played his card, the only card he had. His hideout was safe; they wanted the same thing. Maybe if he hadn't said that he wouldn't be living right now to feel the absolute dread that sweeps through his body. 

The night sky looms above him, a dark, star lit expanse swallowing the horizon. His breath fogs the air and his fingers shake, the forest cold like hell has frozen over. But none of those things distress him more than the sight of Frank lying on the ground, bleeding out. Maybe some time ago he would've relished the thought of the man wounded and knocked on his ass. But now? There is only one thing that slips from his lips.

“Oh shit!”

Crimson is what paints the landscape of his vision; all he can see splattered on the man below him. God, there is so much blood. He’s only seen this much blood once before, and that was because of Frank as well, just in a different way. He stood tall and proud against the backdrop of ten or more cars, bodies littering the concrete floor. He looked, reborn, as if killing was the only thing that put him at ease. He almost died that night as well, his own destructive nature devolving into a suicidal attack on a special agent; by driving a car straight at her. 

Of course David ran her over, what else could he do? Well, not exactly her, but right into her car. Regardless it was for the sake of his family. Frank needed those weapons, and more importantly his life. And so they fought, like an old married couple. Yelled and screamed, and David got drunk more than once trying to tell him to never do it again. 

Slowly but surely his concern for his family faded away. Not that is wasn't always at the forefront of his mind, just that Frank nestled himself firmly in that second place close to his heart. No amount of effort would dislodge him, and so he accepted their twisted relationship as friendship. 

And now his friend is dying beneath his hands and for the love of all that is holy, why does he weigh so much? David tries to pick him up, straining to even get him sitting. The man must weigh at least two Hulks, like god damn, how much tuna did he eat on the way over?

David channels his inner, non existent, marine and finally slings the lifeless man over his shoulders, struggling to stand on his own two feet. He takes a step, knees wobbling over the extra few pounds. Well, maybe few is the wrong word. The leaves crunch beneath his feet as slowly, oh, so slowly, he makes his way back to the van. He shoves the bleeding man off his shoulders and onto the palleted floor. He is at a loss, not quite sure what to do because, that's a fucking arrow in his chest and holy shit he needs surgery. 

“Dammit Frank I'm a hacker, not a doctor,” he irritably remarks, mainly to himself.

He vaguely recalls someone once said something similar; inversely he might add- but, his quest for an IV distracts such thoughts. In Frank's arm it goes, fluids attached in tandem to the other end. Antibiotics slide down the little tube and through the IV. Franks shirt is as high as circumstances allow, and David grimaces at the mess those bullets have made. 

He patches him up best he can, some pads and gauze here and there. It's minimal at best, but he never went to medical school. He tries to stabilize the massive man as much as he can before he shuts the back doors and climbs into the driver’s seat. With an absent minded call to the police, he starts the car, and books it the hell out of there. 

He drives as recklessly as he can without disturbing Franks wounds, which is like five above the speed limit. Well, they are in a forest so maybe there is no speed limit, but all David knows is he needs to get help fast. Maybe he is hyperventilating because the window keeps fogging up and hells is that rain? Of course to would rain now of all damn times. Fuck. He wipes his hand across the windshield. Maybe it's to placate his own nerves, but he ends up turning his head to look at Frank, and he feels the need to say something. 

“Come on now Frank. Everything's gonna be okay, all right?” He says, and god he knows Frank can't hear him but anything helps. “Everything is going to be okay.”

He looks at Frank, and damn if he doesn't pray to something. Maybe it works because with a pained gasp, Frank wakes up, a groan following in its wake. He laughs. Not to be mean, but because thank the Lord Frank is alive. Maybe not well and chipper, but one step at a time. Frank groans again, and says to him, as gravelly and grumpy as the day he was surely born, “Might be hope for you yet, Spook.” 

Nickname be damned he is glad Frank can talk, but the man really needs a doctor. Wait, isn't his friend with the missing leg a doctor; patched people up in the field, or something? In passing David read his file, and all he knows is that man can certainly fix Frank up. He speeds up, settling in his seat. It's going to be a long damn ride, but he has a goal in sight. Get Frank's friend over at the hideout to take that nasty ass arrow out of him, and maybe some bullets too. 

“Okay,” he whispers to himself, “okay, okay. Okay.”  
And thus he drives into the night. 

\---------  
Frank dreams. Hazy and muted, he dreams of better times. Many end like his other memories, red splattering his face, wife and kids sprawled in a pool of their own blood. He screams. It stops. It starts again. Wait, no, not the same dream. A new one, a better one. Lieberman is there, with his family. And Franks family is there too. Not like it is entirely impossible, Frank hates to admit.

But, over the past few weeks he has found himself caring about Lieberman. The man was a mess, sure, but he was a mess because of Frank. He can't shake the feeling that his actions in Kandahar caused this man to be where he is now. He hides his guilt under threats and shrouded insults. But Frank does care, maybe even considers David a friend. 

So when the same camo-clad men come in, he screams, god does he scream. But it doesn't help, it never helps, and there goes David and his family. Careening to the ground in a shower of blood and brains, and just red everywhere. It's in him, it's in him, it is him. Dead, everything dead, everyone gone. Deceased. Like him. Like his soul. They killed him that day, but maybe David could've brought him back. 

But no, there he is on the Thanksgiving table and- Gunner, why is he talking. Is he dead, oh God Gunner. He died in those woods like he said. He left him, up on that mountain, he said he'd come back. He didn't. Now he is dying. He betrayed him. He killed him he-STOP. Blurry lines and sweat dripping down his brow. Oh god he-

\--------  
David sees the door open and doesn't hesitate.

“Frank’s dying.”


End file.
